Unfinished Business
by boscoslut
Summary: Someone from Peter's past takes his revenge out on Neal. Just an excuse to beat Neal up.
1. Chapter 1

Just a little plot bunny I started while yapping with my buddy Chris. This one ran away from me. Really no point besides beat Neal the hell up. All errors are mine. Yes, I stole Tuesday's episode title and made it my own. It fit.

**Unfinished Business**

Peter didn't even know why they were fighting. It started with some snarky comment Neal made and escalated from there.

Peter was on edge as it was. Elizabeth was out of town for over a week now and going home to an empty bed was wearing him thin. He could never sleep well when she wasn't there next to him. He was on his third cup of coffee and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Neal… I'm not in the mood. Would you please just… stop rambling and keep your comments to yourself unless they are useful to the case."

Neal looked at him hurt. "Well I'm sorry Peter. I didn't realize I was rambling. Since when are my useful, intelligent thoughts ramblings?" He flashed Peter his award winning smile.

"Since about 8 o'clock this morning. I've been listening to your _useful_ thoughts for over two hours now and we are no where closer to any leads on this thing," Peter emphasized his frustration by slapping the file he was reviewing down on his desk.

"Still not sleeping well?" Neal asked considerately. He noted the bags under Peter's eyes.

"Not really," Peter mumbled under his breath. "Listen, I need some fresh air. Whadda ya say we head down to the art museum and scope things out?"

Neal began to stand. "Maybe figure out how they broke in?"

"For starters," Peter nodded standing as well, grabbing at his jacket on the back of his office chair.

As they exited the lobby the cold rain pounded down on top of them, soaking them immediately.

"This wasn't in the forecast," Neal stated, wishing he hadn't forgot his umbrella.

"Could this day get any worse?" Peter grumbled.

"You're telling me? This is an expensive suit." Neal yanked up his collar in frustration. He pulled his fedora hat down a little further on his forehead in hopes the strong wind wouldn't run with it.

"Oh like you paid for it!" Peter spat, pulling his keys from his pocket he hit the alarm and lock release button on his keychain.

Neal stopped in his tracks. "You know… you've been giving me grief all week. I know you've been grouchy with Elizabeth gone but I don't understand why you have been taking it out on me."

"Oh for the Love of God, Neal! Stop whining! Just… get in the damn car," Peter exclaimed.

"No… you know what? I and my suit that I didn't pay for will walk! I'll meet you at the museum," Neal said, changing his direction he began walking the edge of the sidewalk towards the center of town.

"Neal!" Peter threw his arms out in frustration. "Please, just get in the car! It's miserable out here. The last thing I need is a guilty conscious because you got a damn cold from this."

"God forbid I get a cold and whine about it," Neal bit back. "Don't act like you suddenly care. You know what? I'm safer walking the way you drive." Picking up his speed he decided to cut between two buildings. This way Peter couldn't follow him with the car.

Peter watched his partner disappear behind a building and swore under his breath. Why did Neal have to be so damn stubborn? It was only about ten blocks to the art museum and the way traffic looked Neal would probably beat him on foot anyway. Running a hand through his wet hair he opened his door and plopped down into his driver's seat.

He had to admit he was taking out his frustrations all week on Neal and the young man didn't deserve any of it. Like all cases, Neal was very useful and an essential part of his crew. He would apologize to him and offer to buy him lunch at his choice of restaurant. A couple honks later he weaved out into the busy morning traffic and gassed his vehicle.

He failed to notice the two men following Neal.

They were slowly gaining on him. When the young con tucked between two buildings they quickened their pace. They had the perfect opportunity and oh were they going to take it. They were originally going to go after Peter. After all, he was the target. However, after observing him for a few days they noticed the way he treated Neal. The way he looked at him. The protective way he looked out for him. Revenge would be so much sweeter this way.

Neal never knew what hit him. One minute he was walking between two buildings, looking down at the murky puddle as liquid splashed over his expensive Italian leather shoe. The next second a rough hand grabbed his wrist forcefully and yanked him into the side of one of the brick buildings, instantly busting open his lip and dazing him. His trendy hat was knocked from his skull.

Stunned, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the metallic copper flavor of his own blood. He proceeded to run his tongue over and across his front teeth to make sure they were still there. Before his mind could process what was going on, he was flipped around aggressively, the same rough hands gripping both of his wrists now his arms were pulled cruelly behind his back and effectively pinned. He hissed in pain as his arms were damn near yanked from sockets. The grip on his wrists brutal and bruising as sharp nails dug into flesh.

"What the…"

Before he could get another word out he was punched dead center in the nose. His head rocked back hard, blood instantly began leaking from both nostrils. He blinked back the tears that were forming in both of his eyes.

The next fist caught him in the lower stomach, doubling him over he began coughing. "Please," he gasped. "Just- just take what you want…"

The man doing the beating grinned and let out a sadistic chuckle. "Hear that Sam? He thinks we are robbing him."

Sam, the man that was restraining Neal's arms, grinned even wider. "This is a nice suit, Al. I don't think it's my size though."

Al sized up Neal's small frame nodding his head. "Yes, fine thread indeed. I don't reckon it's large enough for me either. I didn't know a FBI salary could afford such apparel." With that he drilled his next blow into Neal's ribs.

Neal doubled over again, gasping for oxygen. He wanted to ask what they wanted then but he didn't think he could speak just yet. Neal looked up into the eyes of Al, the attacker, and studied his face. He was really good at faces and this man he had never seen before.

No more vocals were exchanged as the beating continued for what felt to Neal hours. He was so weak and on the verge of passing out his legs gave out. Sam just yanked up hard on his arms, forcing him back to his unsteady feet.

Legs buckled at the knees, eyes closed, Neal felt a hand fist into his hair and yank his head back ruthlessly. "Open your eyes bitch!"

If Neal wasn't in so much pain he would have laughed out loud. One eye was already swollen shut and no doubt already turning an ugly shade of purple or black. The other eye wasn't doing to much better but at least he could open it partially and squint. Doing that took all of his concentration.

Once Al was convinced Neal was listening he continued. "You tell Agent Peter Burke next time we will kill you. Tell him Al Polanski says hi and tell him I'm just warming up. You got all that?"

Neal couldn't move his head to nod as his head was still being held in place by his hair. He was pretty sure he bit his tongue if the blood at the back of his throat and swelling in his mouth was any indication. He settled on blinking his _good_ eye and hoped that would be sufficient.

Apparently it was because after a small pause, Al commented to Sam. "I'll bring the van around to the entrance of the alley so no one sees."

"We are going for a little ride, Agent," Al said slapping Neal across the face once before letting go of his hair. Neal's head rolled slightly back and around before coming to rest with his chin on his chest.

Agent? Did these jagoffs think he was an agent? And more importantly, what did Peter have to do with this? The buzzing in his ears became so loud Neal concentrated on it as he gratefully welcomed darkness.

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"Where the hell is he?" Peter was pacing his office. He stuck his head out of the office door and yelled. "Jones! Track Neal's anklet for me will ya?" He barked the order out as he dialed Neal's cell phone number one last time. When Neal didn't pick up and it went to voicemail Peter hit end and tossed his cell phone onto his desk carelessly.

Neal hadn't answered his last half a dozen calls nor did he respond to the handful of text messages he sent. He figured when Neal didn't show up at the museum that he was wrong about traffic and he had just beaten his younger friend there. After waiting a little over a half an hour he began to think Neal was more upset at him than he thought he was. After another twenty minutes of doing some investigative work on his own regarding the missing statue from the museum, he decided to head back to the office.

When he discovered Neal hadn't walked back to FBI headquarters, he began to suspect something was wrong. Had Neal walked back to June's house? That would be one long miserable walk in the nasty, windy New York rain but he wouldn't put it passed Neal. He certainly didn't seem upset enough to cut his tracking anklet and make a run for it. Besides, he would have been alerted by now if he had.

He looked up as Jones entered his office. "I got the information you requested. Neal's actually only a couple blocks south. I would guess from the way he's moving then stopping he's possibly in a vehicle."

"In a vehicle? That doesn't make sense." Peter scratched his chin. He picked up his cell phone and eased it into his pants pocket. "I'm stepping out. If Neal shows up here make sure he stays put." Peter headed towards the elevators. He impatiently pushed the elevator button several times. What was going on? Something in his gut was screaming at him.

Just as Peter stepped from the building a van came screeching up to the curb. The side door glided open noisily. The van still slightly progressing forward, Neal was thrown out. He rolled a couple times across rough sidewalk pavement before landing at Peter's feet. His arm slightly bent at an odd angle half underneath him; Neal's favorite Devore suit was bloodied and torn. His dress shirt untucked; half the buttons missing exposing his battered chest.

Peter briefly looked up at the van just in time to see Neal's hat tossed out after him. An arm with a middle finger extended snaked out into sight before tucking back into the van and the door sliding closed. The van ventured back out into traffic nearly side swiping a taxi. Peter tried to make out the license plate that was covered in dried mud. Then his focus went immediately to his partner.

"Oh God… Neal?" He bent down and gently rolled Neal to his back. His breath sucked from his lungs as he took in Neal's multiple injuries. It was safe to say he had never seen a man beaten so badly and a sick feeling overcame him that Neal was possibly dead.

"Oh God No… please!" Fighting the bile rising in his throat he checked for a pulse and sighed in relief when he felt one. It was weak but it was there.

"Neal… can you hear me?" Everything looked broken on Neal and Peter was almost scared to touch him. "Who would do this to you? Neal?"

He looked up at a woman passing by on the sidewalk and shouted, "FBI! Call 911!"


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the reviews. Not big on medical stuff but I gave it a whirl all in fun. Again, for my buddy Chris. She loves her hurt/comfort stuff. Me? I just like to beat him up!

Unfinished Business

Chapter 2:

Neal was in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered Peter kneeling over him, attempting to offer him words of encouragement. As he started to drift off again Peter was shouting at someone about being FBI. The booming voice startled him back to awareness and his reflexed response was to tighten all his muscles.

Big mistake. Everything above his waist hurt like hell, especially his head. His face felt like someone had dropped an oversized brinks truck on it then began jumping up and down on top of it. He couldn't open his eyes or speak to let Peter know he was okay because truth be told, he wasn't. He was also very cold.

He wasn't sure how long he had passed back out but when he felt his body being jostled around and heard more voices, he slowly began to come back to the land of the living. His eyes remained closed yet he could tell he was being strapped down to something. Had Peter just been a dream? Was he back at Dr. Wayne Powell's clinic? Was that fugly nurse going to pump him full of drugs again with that gigantic fuel tank of a needle? He wasn't a fighter by any means but he began to defend himself the best he could given the circumstance.

"Sto–p!" He slurred with a swollen tongue. "Off-ME!" A pain shot through his left arm as he began to thrash his limbs around. He let out a guttural growl yet continued in a futile attempt to protect himself.

One of the paramedics tightened the strap on the gurney restraining Neal from lashing out with his legs. "Give this one a sedative, Tish," he instructed. "This guy must think he's still under attack or something."

Tish had backed away to avoid his arms swinging. They were slow and uncoordinated and when she realized he was no threat she stepped back to the gurney and gently forced his arms to his sides, noting the swollen lump in his forearm as a possible fracture she maneuvered her gentle touch around it.

"Let's keep the top strap loose," she insisted. "Possible arm and rib fractures." She had already cut his clothing from him save his pants. They opted to spare him some dignity and removed his shoes and socks, then cut his pants legs up the sides. All top clothing and his belt were removed exposing some wicked bruising.

One thing was for certain. Who ever did this to the poor guy meant business.

A blanket was placed over him but the top half had slipped off without being firmly strapped down underneath the gurney belt.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? This guy has a tracking device on his ankle for a reason, Tish. He could be dangerous," Bill explained.

"Na... I don't think so," Tish responded. "Besides, look at all the Feds crawling around here. He must be someone important. One of them would have said something to us by now."

When Neal didn't fight back and his arms laid limp to his sides, she bent down and retrieved a small syringe from her med bag.

Several agents from the building had gathered as well as nosey bystanders as Neal was loaded up on the metal stretcher. A police vehicle had just arrived and the men were attempting to hold traffic to allow the ambulance an out. Angry, inconsiderate drivers were already blaring their horns.

If Peter wasn't so distracted he would have throttled each and every horn blower. He was on the side of the ambulance talking to Diana a million words a minute. "I could only make out the last 3 digits of the plate; 500. The van is black, older model with a dull stripe, back and front windows tinted. Looked like a homage to the A-TEAM van." He absently rubbed at his chin as he continued with everything he remembered. After several minutes of rambling, "...and go through ALL files. Old and new! When I find out who did this to him..."

She didn't need a note pad. Diana was listening to every word and yet was looking over Peter's shoulder with a worried expression on her face. She knew exactly what Peter was saying and feeling and finally she cut him off. "I got it. I'll call you when I get something. Go with Neal," she said softly.

"Inform June and try to get a hold of his friend Mozzie. I think they should know," Peter added.

"I got it, boss. Just go."

Peter nodded his head and turned around just in time to see the female paramedic holding a needle up.

"Whoa! WHOA!" In three long, fast strides Peter was at the back of the ambulance at Neal's side. "Just what the hell is that? What are you doing to him?"

Tish didn't bother looking up to Peter. "It's to calm him down, Sir. It will help with the pain so he can rest."

Peter swallowed hard and shook his head in understanding. Of course the paramedic knew how to do her job! Everything had happened so fast. His concern for Neal was clouding his thoughts. "I'm coming with," he stated in a stern tone.

Tish carefully injected the fluid into one of Neal's veins and almost instantly he seemed to physically relax. She capped the syringe and dropped it in a bag, sealing it shut and disposing it in her side bag. She could see him slightly trembling and could feel the coldness on his exposed flesh. She flung the top half of the blanket over her patient, tucking it in on the sides to keep him warm. "Ok then. Let's move." She nodded to her partner as they both hoisted the gurney up into the back of the bus. The male paramedic stepped out and jogged around the side of the vehicle while Tish remained in the back.

Peter stepped in and turned to close the doors when he heard Diana yell. "Wait... Peter?"

She had noticed Neal's favorite hat on the curb and picked it up, running her hand through the inside to straighten it out. It was caked with mud but she recognized it instantly. It was the same hat he was wearing when she first meet him. She grinned at the memory then called out to her boss. "Wait... Peter?" She walked at a quick pace to the back of the bus, handing him the item with a faint smile. "It's um, Neal's. Sure he won't be happy about his clothing but at least the hat is savable. "

Peter looked down at the hat fondly then looked back up into her eyes. "Thank you."

"We'll get this guy," she assured him.

"Yeah," he agreed., closing the ambulance doors he slid down on the mini bench.

Diana slapped the back of the ambulance then turned to the vehicles attempting to get around the police. She drew her gun and badge. Today is not the day to tempt me.

He absently fumbled with the fedora in his fingers a couple minutes as he listened to the sirens sound and felt the small jolt as the two tires of the bus that were up on the curb descended into the street. It wasn't until he heard the paramedic speak that he snapped back to reality.

"Can you hear me, Sir?" She was waving a penlight in one of Neal's eyes that was slightly cracked open.

"Yez." It was groggy and near a whisper.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Um... clin-ic. Help-n Ju-ne. Peter gonna be madz."

Peter looked across the small gap between them with concern. Clinic? He couldn't possibly think he was back there could he? Given his state right now it was possible. Peter set the hat down next to him on the bench and leaned in.

"Not yet. We are in an ambulance at the moment." Clearly Tish didn't know their history.

"Am-bil-ince?" The word was slightly slurred and choppy but she understood him.

"Yes, that is correct. You are in an ambulance. Do you know your name?"

"Ne-al."

"Good. Real good. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

There was a brief pause then a very faint, "Numbz."

She smiled down at him. "Very good. That's the sedative I gave you workin' its charm. My name is Tish. You just relax. We are on our way to the hospital and one of the good docs there will fix you up good as new."

She looked over to Peter. "You a friend or guardian?"

Peter glanced to her. "Um, yeah. You could say that."

She tapped lightly on Neal's anklet monitor with her penlight.

"Oh... um, I'm FBI. I guess you can say I'm both."

"Good. Keep the handsome devil talkin'," she said as she crouched down behind the gurney and began writing on a clipboard.

Peter kneeled down next to the gurney. "Hey Neal. It's Peter. I'm right here. Everything is going to be fine." He glanced back over to Tish for confirmation. She looked up and nodded her approval.

He continued. "Did you hear that? Your face is a mess and the ladies are still hitting on you. Life is so unfair!" He smiled nervously as Neal's head turned slightly toward his voice.

Tish frowned at Peter's choice of words but continued writing.

"Peter?"

"Yeah buddy. I'm right here. Time to Cowboy up and tell me who did this to you."

Tish huffed and decided to speak. "Peter, right? I respect that you are FBI, but can't this wait until later?"

He was never good at this.

He heard her words but focused on Neal.

"Peter?" Neal's arm maneuvered from under the blanket.

Peter didn't hesitate to grab Neal's hand and squeeze it. Neal's fingers were so cold. He looked so vulnerable. He was his guardian. He leaned in so only Neal could hear. "I'm here. You just... relax and give me a name. I will put a bullet in that skull and not think twice."


	3. Chapter 3

Unfinished Business

Chapter 3:

Neal swallowed hard and blinked a couple times. Everything was so out of focus. He closed his eyes a long moment and instantly felt himself drifting off. He wanted to answer Peter but he was so exhausted. He vaguely heard Peter say, "Neal? Come on buddy, stay with me," before sleep consumed him.

Peter felt Neal's grasp go limp in his hand and gently tucked his arm back under the blanket.

"It's the sedative, Sir," Tish informed Peter. "I gave him enough to knock a hippo out," she joked. "He should be out of it for awhile." Her words couldn't have been truer. Neal slept the remainder of the ride to the hospital and didn't even budge when they unloaded him from the back of the bus and wheeled him through the emergency room doors.

Peter followed closely behind. The hallway opened up to a large area full of white curtains. Some were closed clearly in use. He could hear all kinds of commotion going on including some guy yelling at the top of his lungs in pain and a baby crying. They rolled Neal into one of the sectioned off areas and a nurse appeared and began to close a small white curtain in the little area that was cropped off.

"I'm with him," Peter stated, ready to side step the curtain.

"You will have to wait in the waiting room, Sir," she responded flatly.

"I'm FBI," Peter said reaching for his badge.

"Good for you. I bet your mother is proud," she said in an irritated tone. "The doctor will have some questions for you. He will find you in the waiting room when he's ready."

Peter opened his mouth to protest. She cut him off, "It's 5 doors down to the left." She turned her back to him and began talking with Tish. "What do we got?"

Tish held up her clipboard and began to discuss her patient's name and known condition.

Peter closed his mouth and let his shoulders slump. He could still see Neal through the small gap that remained in the makeshift door and he briefly watched as the nurse removed the blanket from Neal. His eyes scanned the numerous bruises on his partner's body and he felt his blood pressure rising at a rapid pace.

Who would do this to Neal? He supposed the real questions was, who wouldn't want to do this to Neal? The con man had been ripping people off since he was in diapers. The list of possible suspects had to be ten miles wide. One thing was for certain, he wasn't going to waste anymore time.

Suddenly the nurse appeared directly in front of him and grabbed the curtain, forcing it all the way closed in one swift yank. Like a kicked dog, he turned and headed towards the waiting room. As he passed a police officer the cop nodded and said, "How's it going?"

"Just peachy," Peter replied, adding, "can't beat the friendly staff around here." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit #3 on his speed dial. Maybe Diana was making some kind of progress.

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When Neal's eyes came into focus he blinked a couple times in confusion. Mozzie was sitting next to him wearing some type of surgical mask. He looked like a total freak with his nose and mouth covered and his glasses on. He had some weird blue hat with white trim on that reminded him of the TV show Scrubs. He wasn't a fan of the show by any means. It just happened to be a favorite for most the guys back in prison. Sitting through it was better than staring at his walls in his cell. More importantly it took his mind of Kate for a short half hour.

He cleared his throat. "Moz?" His voice was hoarse and he attempted to clear his throat again.

"Oh thank God!" Mozzie scooted the chair closer to Neal so he was inches from his face. "You had me scared, man. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to enter this germ infested building? I can practically feel them crawling all over me. I'm going to have to go home and scrub myself with a scrub brush and a whole bottle of bleach. And your room number... 777... what's up with that?"

Neal let out a slight chuckle at Mozzie's silliness and instantly regretted it. "Ouch," he whined, running his hand over his sore torso. "Remind me not to do that again."

Neal licked his dry lips and noted they were extremely puffy and felt rough. "How did you know I was here?" Neal asked as he squinted and rubbed the gauze above his left eyebrow with his fingers. He continued to take physical inventory as Mozzie rambled away.

"Lady Suit stopped by June's and happened to catch me there. I was sampling some of your vintage 1980 red wine. That stuff has some kick by the way. It is superb. Better than the other 4 bottles in that collection. Luckily she caught me on my first glass because I had full intentions of finishing off that entire bad girl..." Mozzie watched Neal wince and it pulled at his heart strings. "Speaking of June, she's still on vacation with her granddaughter. I didn't bother informing her of your little predicament because I didn't want to worry her."

"Thanks," Neal slowly nodded his approval, running his fingers lightly over his swollen eyelid he hissed in discomfort. "Arrggghhhh damn it!"

"You okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Touche. Doc ordered some X-Rays while you were out of it. It appears you have a fractured bone in your arm," Mozzie said.

Neal held up the appendage that was already in a white cast with the name 'MOZZIE' written in bold black sharpie across the top of it. "I figured that one out all on my own, Moz."

"You always have been super quick on the uptake," Mozzie added, "I took the liberty of signing your cast already. What can I say... I got bored."

Neal would have rolled his eyes if he didn't know it would cause him great physical suffering. He was still having problems opening one eye up all the way. He shuttered at the thought of looking in a mirror. If he looked half as bad as he felt... "What else?"

"They taped up your ribs. You have 2 cracked ones but nothing major."

Neal unconsciously rubbed at his ribs. "Feels pretty major to me."

"Besides 6 stitches above your eye you have a crap load of bruising. Doc said you are going to be sore for awhile but you are free to go when you wake up. Suit said they weren't even going to assign you a room but he insisted." Mozzie said. "And since you are up... think we can get out of this hellhole? I can feel sickness entering my body as I speak!"

"Sure thing Moz," Neal smiled softly at his old friend. "Where's Peter?"

"Oh he was here to get the scoop from the doc then stepped out into the hall for a private phone conversation. He didn't want to interrupt your beauty sleep." Mozzie frowned at his choice of words. "Considering your current appearance I don't think beauty sleep is the correct terminology."

"Thanks Moz... really... " Neal replied in a sarcastic tone.

Mozzie got suddenly serious. "Who did this to you, Neal?"

"That's what I would like to know."

Both men glanced over to the door where Peter was leaning against the doorframe. "You look like hell, Neal."

"So I've been told. It's nice to see you too, Peter."

"I have Diana checking out all your old cons we have on record but it would make things a lot simpler if you dropped a name in my lap." Peter slowly walked into the hospital room and around the bed to stand by Neal's side. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh just fine," Neal stated rubbing again at his ribs, "you know it only hurts to blink or breathe." Neal shut his eyes briefly and mumbled, "My head is killing me and my mouth is so... dry."

Peter noticed that Neal's words were thick and his lips kept sticking together when he spoke. At least he wasn't slurring anymore. "Would you like a glass of water?" Peter offered. Without waiting for an answer he grabbed a cup off the night stand and proceeded into the small bathroom to fill it up. He returned with the plastic cup and handed it to Neal who accepted and drank greedily. "Thanks," he said handing the cup back to Peter who set it back on the stand.

Peter pointed down to the signature on Neal's cast then looked at Mozzie. "What are you in third grade?"

"Second, actually," Mozzie snapped back.

"Is that mask really necessary?" Peter asked then shook his head, "Forget it. I don't want to know."

"So how 'bout it, Neal?" Peter focused his attention back to his injured partner. "Gotta name for this old FBI guy out for some good ole fashion justice?"

"It all happened so fast, Peter," Neal clipped. He wasn't lying. It really did happen fast. Truth be told, he wasn't in the mood to burst Peter's bubble and let him know it was someone who held a grudge against him. Peter would take it very personal if he knew the men that beat the crap out of him were in fact from Peter's past... _not his_.

"How many of them were there?"

"Um, 2 I believe," Neal stated. "One of them held my arms while the other used me as a human punching bag. Look, can we not do this now? I'm really tired, Peter. I just want to go home and get some rest and forget this day ever happened.." He knew he was going to have to tell Peter. What if these guys came after Peter himself? Or worse, Elizabeth? It was a good thing she was still out of town for a couple more days. He just didn't want to do it right here and now.

Peter sighed in slight frustration. He could tell Neal was hiding something from him. Why would he protect the persons responsible for causing him a world of hurt? Deciding to let it go _for now_, he nodded in acceptance. "Fine. But this conversation ain't over."

"Shocker."

"Ok smart ass, let's get you out of here. But you are NOT going home. You are coming to my place tonight."

"I can keep him company at June's," Mozzie piped in.

"I'm sure you can. However, I'm not letting Neal out of my sight. These guys are dangerous and might decide to pay Neal a second visit and finish off what they started if it's personal. It was personal, right Neal? Your wallet wasn't stolen so I'm assuming this wasn't a random mugging? And why the hell did they dump you off at the FBI headquarters?" A sudden light bulb hit Peter. If they dumped him there, could that possibly mean they had revenge set for someone with the bureau? That someone being him?

"I appreciate the invite, Peter. Really though... I just want to go home to my own bed. I'm sure I'll be fine." Neal began to sit up and instantly regretted it. "Ahhhh that smarts," he hissed as his ribs protested.

"It's non negotiable Neal," Peter replied, instantly bending over he placed one hand on Neal's small of his back and one hand wrapped around his bicep. He gently helped ease Neal up to a full sitting position and held on to him until Neal flung both legs over the side of his bed.

"You okay? You got it?" Peter asked with concern.

"Yeah thanks," Neal said looking around confused. "Um... where are my clothes?"

Peter clicked his tongue. "Oh... about that..."

"Never fear!" Mozzie shouted so loud it startled both men. They both looked to him as he held up a small black bag. "I took the liberty of bringing you some fresh ones from home being the awesome caring friend that I am."

Peter looked impressed. "You thought of that all by yourself?"

Mozzie's face twitched. "Well it was with the recommendation from one Lady Suit but I picked them out."

"Uh huh," Peter grinned.

"Thanks Moz," Neal said sheepishly as he accepted the bag.

Peter pointed to the bag. "You need some help with that?"

"What? How about a big fat no," Neal replied unzipping the bag, pulling out a pair of neatly folded sweat pants, boxers, socks and plain white t-shirt.

"Fine. We'll be in the hall when you are ready," Peter motioned for Mozzie to clear the room. "You going to want a ride home?"

Mozzie mocked Neal's prior statement. "That will be an even bigger big fat no."

"Fine. Suit yourself."

"You got that right, Suit."

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"I can't believe they cut my coat off," Neal grumbled as he positioned himself as comfortably as he could in Peter's passenger seat. This whole situation was embarrassing. Firstly, he was forced into a wheelchair and was wheeled down to the parking garage by some good looking nurse like some kind of crippled. Secondly, Peter rambled the whole way about how they cut his clothing off in front of half of New York. Peter assured him they got it all on surveillance video and would broadcast it on the news to let the other half of New York that missed out get a peek. Right now he just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. In fact he would if he had the strength to dig one.

"Oh stop your complaining," Peter half joked. "Besides... your hat was spared."

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" Neal looked at him questionably.

Peter leaned over Neal to help buckle him in. "There's nothing enjoyable about seeing your friend hurt," he said flatly. "I'm just trying to lighten the moment."

"Peter— my ribs hurt is this seatbelt really necessary?" Neal tugged on it in frustration.

"It's the law," was his reply.

The ride was made mostly in silence outside of Neal hissing and yelling a "this really sucks" when Peter had to slam on his brakes and the seatbelt tightened up around him. Peter said he was sorry three times then unsnapped the buckle to give Neal some breathing room and said "screw the law today" which made Neal smile.

Finally the silence was broken. "Level with me, Neal," Peter said glancing over at his injured friend.

"What do you mean?" Neal chose the 'play dumb' route. It worked...___sometimes_.

"I know you know who did this to you. Out with it. What are you hiding?"

Neal sighed in resignation. "I don't want you to get upset."

"What?" Peter grinded his teeth. "Neal. I promise you I won't get upset with you. But I am clearly already upset at the fact someone did this to you. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Not yet..."

"Neal this isn't a game! This is your life! I want an answer and I want it now!"

"Okay," Neal replied. "The guy gave me a message when he was beating me to a bloody pulp."

"And?"

"He said to tell you Al Polanski says hi." Neal watched Peter's hands tighten around the steering wheel and turn a shade of white. His face, on the other hand, turned a dark shade of red, his jaw bones flinching in and out.

Neal decided to just spit the rest out. "He said he was just warming up and next time he's going to...um he said he is going to kill me."

Peter swerved the vehicle over to the side of the street and slammed it in park, stepping out he left the door wide open and began pacing back and forth with his fingers locked behind his head.

"Peter?" When all he got was a low growl from him he leaned over regretting his action as a stabbing pain shot through his entire core. "Arrgghhhhhhhhhh!"

Peter stopped his pacing and leaned in. "Neal?" He looked at his friend who was hunched forward, his face a very pale shade around all the dark bruises. "Neal? Talk to me?"

Neal held up a finger as his breathing got under control. "I'm... I'm fine... I just... need a second."

After several minutes Neal leaned slowly back and tilted his head back against the headrest, eyes closed. "Are you upset with me?"

Peter slid back into the driver's seat. "No. God no... I'm sorry Neal. I'm not upset with you. I'm super pissed but not at you."

Neal slid one eye open. "At this Al guy? Who is he?"

"He's a guy I put away for five years," Peter responded. "He's been out of prison for almost a full year now. I thought he was reformed but apparently there's no such thing!"

A flash of pain crossed Neal's face then disappeared a second later.

Peter regretted his words. "I mean, in his case there's no such thing as reform. Damn it!"

"Why would he come after me?"

"I don't know," Peter placed a hand on Neal's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I don't know. Maybe to get back at me by hurting someone I care about. Neal... I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry for treating you like crap all week and I'm sorry you were walking when you were jumped and I put you in this mess!"

"Peter, this isn't your fault," Neal said.

"It may or may not be but I feel responsible. I AM responsible. I promise you Neal... nothing else will happen to you. Not on my watch. Damn it!"

If only that were true.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews. I will hopefully start reading some of your stories and return the action soon. I do write this for mostly self enjoyment but it always feels good to know others like my crap. You seem like an angsty bunch and yes indeed... my favorite cup of coffee! I busted out another chapter so I thought I'd post it for the holiday weekend. I forgot how therapeutic writing angst was! Seriously, I haven't been this relaxed in a long time.

Just two comments/questions:

One, when Peter talks to his kick-ass wife he calls her El, L or Ele? I assume there is no special way to abbreviate her name in this fandom? If so- forgive but I'm sticking with El. I've loved this actress since Fastlane. I fear I could never do her any justice by writing her so I may keep her out of the picture for the remainder of my fic. She may possibly pop up towards the end.

Also, I'm mentioning Hughes in this chapter. Is he still on this show? I don't recall him once this season but I love him and his attitude. I did notice a new boss (?) the other night in a newer episode. The one that ended up taking Neal to the event he wanted to see that all others denied him? Anyone care to offer up his name? Regardless, I"m sticking with Hughes since he's who I do remember.

This chapter is uneventful yet necessary.

Enough babbling.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 4:

Peter opted to swing through the pharmacy drive thru to pick up Neal's pain prescription despite the long line of cars. Apparently he was taking this whole not letting Neal out of his sight seriously. Neal thought it was a bit extreme he wouldn't leave him in the car for _five_ minutes but he didn't care to argue the point. He was also secretly touched at the same time.

The second he handed the white sack to Neal he ripped it open and grabbed the small bottle of pills. After fidgeting with the cap a few seconds due to the annoying cast between his thumb and pointer finger he dry swallowed two of them. He was hoping they would kick in by the time they got to Peter's house. Just the thought of walking from the car into the house made his head throb and body ache more than it already was.

"How many did you take?" Peter asked grabbing the empty bag out of Neal's lap. "There is a reason they have instructions written on these things. You are supposed to read them."

"Who said I didn't read them?"

"You are good, Neal... but not that good."

"Peter- I appreciate your concern, really I do - but must you bicker at me like an old lady?"

"I feel really guilty about what happened to you today and I'm very concerned about you. Yes, I must. Now how many?"

"Two."

Peter glanced at the road then down to the paper bag for some speed reading. "Neal you are supposed to take ONE on a FULL stomach. When's the last time you ate something?"

"Well I took two," Neal replied. "Please just- watch the road. I don't feel like taking a second trip to the ER today." Neal thought about when the last time he ate was. "I ate breakfast this morning. If you recall, we never did get lunch."

"You better not get sick," Peter warned. Just then his own stomach rumbled. He'd give that one an easy 5.0 on the Richter scale. He was surprised Neal didn't hear or at least feel it. He hadn't ate anything all day unless you included four cups of bureau generic coffee. "I'm pretty hungry. Should we order a pizza?"

"Sure," Neal responded, having no intentions of eating any of it. Besides, he could feel a big cut in the side of his cheek and on his tongue that made the thought of putting anything in his mouth uncomfortable. All he wanted to do was sleep. Neal closed his eyes and rested his head on the cool window, listening _somewhat _to Peter make several phone calls.

First, Peter called Diana and updated her with the news. He requested she bring by Allen Polanski's files later that evening. He also wanted to know Al's current address and anything else she could dig up. Next up he called Hughes and filled him in on everything. Hughes was going to handle the warrant for Polanski's arrest. Hopefully, they would pick him up right away and nip this in the butt. Thankfully, Hughes granted him with a couple days off from their current case to focus on Neal and their current situation. He then called Jones and asked him to have a unit of two men posted outside his home for protection. He wasn't taking any chances. Until this sack-of-scum was behind bars, he considered him a major threat. He still hadn't asked Neal about the second perp.

Lastly, he called up his favorite local pizza joint and ordered their pizza. He nudged Neal as gently as he could and asked him what he wanted on his half and when Neal just waved him off, he ordered a large pizza with the works. He noticed Neal was slightly shivering with no jacket and turned the heat on high, pointing all sets of vents at him.

Neal had been listening to Peter talk to his co workers and boss and softly smiled to himself. He truly admired the way everyone around Peter respected him. Himself included.

By the time they parked outside of Peter's home, Neal was already feeling the pain meds working their magic. He hated to admit that Peter was right. His stomach was twisting in knots and he was feeling a little dizzy. Maybe two pills wasn't such a great idea. They did take the edge off from the total ass kicking he endured earlier. The pounding in his skull had dulled to a slight knocking and everything else was kind of numb. On the same token, he was starting to feel jittery and disconnected from his body mentally.

"Honey, we're home," Peter chimed in. "Can you make it inside or do I need to call the hospital and request that pretty little nurse to come assist with her wheelchair?"

"Sometimes you just aren't funny," Neal groaned, opening his passenger door to get out.

"Admit it, I'm funny," Peter grinned, making his way around the front of the vehicle to help Neal out of the car. With Peter's assistance, it took several minutes to get him fully out of the seat. It took Neal even longer to work his way into the house. With his good arm around his mid section, he took baby steps towards the home cursing and hissing the entire way. _Maybe the pain meds hadn't fully kicked in he decided. _

"Who's the old lady now?" Peter asked holding the door open for Neal to enter.

"Bite me, Peter," was his dry reply.

Satchmo was at the door and let out a loud bark, his tail wagging vigorously at the sight of his owner.

"Hey buddy," Peter bent down and gave him a quick pet on top of his head. "I'm sorry daddy didn't make it home today to let you out. You aren't gonna tell mommy are you? Give me a minute."

"You can walk him, Peter. I'm just going to..." he glanced over at the welcoming sofa and pointed. "Yeah that sofa looks about right."

"Hold on a few," Peter ordered holding his arm out. He closed the door behind them and locked the regular and bolt lock. "Let me check the place out first. Make sure everything is clear."

"Seriously? With the size of this dog you think someone had the sack to enter your place uninvited?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Satch is a lover, not a fighter. He's not some trained FBI dog!" He drew his gun and ventured off into the living room, peering around each corner like they did in the lame procedural cop shows.

"Unbelievable," Neal mumbled to himself, giving Satchmo a good rub behind the ear. Ignoring Peter, he slowly made his way over to the sofa grabbing on anything stable in his path for support. Exhausted from the short walk he eased himself down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh of relief.

Peter made his way back to the living room moments later. "All clear," he announced in a satisfied tone.

"Great." Neal pinched at his nose and quickly pulled his hand away. The doctor had briefed him on his injuries before he was checked out of the hospital and failed to mention his nose was broken. Maybe it wasn't but it sure felt like it. The flesh was so tender and his nostrils felt swollen. A sudden ring of the doorbell followed by a knock had Neal looking to Peter with worry in his eyes. "Who is it?"

"Relax," Peter insisted, pacing over to the door. After looking through the peephole he replied, "It's just the unit I ordered. Listen, I want you to stay put. I'm going to talk with these officers for a few minutes. Then I'm going to have one sit with you while I take the dog for a quick walk unless one of them is so kind to do it for me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Neal informed him. Having already slipped his shoes off he was stretching his legs out one by one across the sofa, looking for any form of comfortable position. He watched Peter greet the officers then leaned back onto the sofa's arm rest closing his eyes.

He was in a short fitful sleep state when he heard Peter calling his name. He felt someone shake his arm and slowly opened his eyes. "Huh? Whatz wrong?"

"Nothing. The pizza is here. Why don't you sit up and eat a couple slices?" Peter couldn't help but speak about how bloodshot his eyes were. "Can you even see right?"

Neal slowly sat up favoring his ribs again. He wanted a new hospital. God forbid there would ever be a new hospital. Okay, it could be the same hospital, but a new Doctor next time. Because double the dose of what that _Doctor_ gave him wasn't killing all the pain. "Yeah," he croaked. "Doc said some blood vessels burst."

"Meds helping any?" Peter asked, setting a paper plate on the coffee table in front of Neal with two slices of thick crust pizza.

"Mmmm some," he responded. He looked at the pizza and turned his nose up. "The works?"

"Hey I asked you what you wanted and you didn't bother responding now eat up." Peter took another swig of his beer then sat down in the chair across from Neal.

Neal took a look at the long neck bottle and licked his dry lips. "I'm thirsty you got any wine?"

"I'm a man's man, Neal. We don't drink wine we drink beer," Peter huffed taking a big chomp of his pizza slice. "Yum, this is excellent," he said around a mouthful.

"I guess that makes me a ladies man... Elizabeth drinks wine. She have any sitting around here? May I call her and ask?"

Peter swallowed his bite and followed it with another healthy swig of beer. "Yes, but if you had read your prescription instructions like I did you would know you are to drink plenty of water and avoid alcoholic beverages."

"I believe I am to avoid large quantities of alcohol, Peter. One glass isn't going to do any harm is it?"

Peter thought about it a minute then stood to his feet. "Any preference?"

"Anything at this point would be a treat," Neal smiled his appreciation. As Peter walked off to the kitchen he quietly called Satchmo over and handed him a slice of pizza off his plate. The dog scarfed the entire slice down practically swallowing it whole. "Good boy."

Peter returned with an open wine bottle he found in the refrigerator and an empty glass. He poured the glass half full and set the bottle down next to it. "Neal I've been meaning to ask you this. You said you thought there were two perps, right? Did you happen to get a good look at the other one? I mean, can you sketch a picture of him once you are feeling better?"

Neal downed the half glass in four gulps then placed the empty glass back on the table, reaching to pour himself another. When Peter arched an eyebrow at him he shrugged his shoulders. "What? You said I could have a glass. That one wasn't even half full."

"Yeah well take it easy there, lush. Last thing I need is you getting all loopy on me."

"Yes, _Dear_," Neal agreed before taking a couple more heavy gulps then easing the glass back down. He savored how cool the liquid felt on his parched throat a moment. "I never got a look at him. I did hear the other guy call him by first name. Sam."

"Huh... interesting..."

"This is interesting... how?"

"I took Polanski down for an antique shop heist several years back."

"I've never heard of him before."

"You probably wouldn't. He was small time. Call him a wanna be gangster if you will. The most he ever got away with was a $2000 golden flask. Add up all the small trinkets he stole it made for one nice five year sentence with all his priors. The ironic, interesting part is his half brother, Sam Goeller, was his accomplice. He ended up testifying against Polanski in return for a lesser sentence. He served six months and change then was out on good behavior."

Neal finished off his glass while listening then responded. "So you think it's interesting Goeller and Polanski partnered back up?"

"A little, yes. I recall Polanski being pretty ticked off at his brother when he testified against him in court. He physically threatened to kill him for turning on him."

"Blood is thicker than water."

"Yeah, I suppose you are right. It's just ironic that this other guy's name is Sam. Diana is due to stop by with Polanski's files soon. I'll have her check out Goeller's whereabouts." Peter noted the empty glass and the one slice of pizza left on Neal's plate. "Are you going to eat?"

"I ate a slice."

"Actually, I watched you feed my dog a slice. You are lucky El isn't here. She gets mad when I do that. Gives him gas."

"You saw that?"

"I can't force-feed you. If you aren't going to eat I'm going to offer the guys out front the rest?"

"Truth is I have a cut in my mouth. It hurts," Neal admitted. "I think I can only handle soft foods."

"You need some pudding or applesauce? We don't have that but I think El has some yogurt in the fridge. I need to check the expire date first? "

"Na... thanks though. I'm getting kind of sleepy." Neal stretched back out on the sofa wiggling in for just the right spot.

Peter grabbed another slice and held it in his mouth by the tip while closing the box up. "Be right back."

Peter took the rest of the pizza out to the officers and by the time he arrived back inside Neal was softly snoring with his mouth partially open. He grabbed the blanket from the back of his sofa and draped it over his still form. Even in his sleep Neal held a pained expression on his face.

Peter went into the kitchen to make a couple calls. He didn't want to interrupt Neal's sleep. He decided to call Diana and tell her about Sam Goeller. After their short conversation he called his wife. It was so good to hear her voice. He hadn't spoken with her since earlier that morning. They talked for over a half hour. By the time they exchanged their verbal love for each other and goodbyes, there was a soft knock at the door.

Peter quickly walked to the front door hoping to grab it before Neal was woken up. After peaking out the peephole once again he unlocked and allowed Diana her entrance.

"Hey," he whispered. "Let's take this into the kitchen. Neal's out of it on the sofa."

Diana nodded and without a word followed him into the kitchen with her files in hand. She glanced at Neal in sympathy on her way past him. Peter's dog was on the floor next to him looking all protective and she smiled to herself. Even his dog had taken a liking to the con man.

"I'm sorry... had I known you were going to be here so quick I would have saved you some pizza. With El gone the house is lacking on groceries. Care for a beverage?"

"No I'm good," she set the files on the kitchen counter and pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "How's he holding up?"

"That bastard busted him up pretty good but he'll live."

"Did they give him anything to ease the pain?"

"Yes."

"And you are letting him drink? I thought you weren't supposed to mix those?"

"That's what I told him. Neal is Neal. What do we got?"

"You aren't going to like this."

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again for the reviews. I know... I am slow at updates. This is short. When I have time, I want to make the best of the next installment.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 5:

"You aren't going to like this."

"I figured I wouldn't," Peter said.

"Polanski has fallen off the map," Diana began. "He served his time, Peter. There was no form of probation after his release."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, we have nothing on him. No known address, no known place of employment, no nothing. It's like he disappeared after he was released from prison." Diana could see Peter was deep in thought so she continued. "I checked out Goeller like you requested as well."

Peter nodded for her to continue as he leaned against the kitchen counter, gripping the linoleum tightly.

"First off he's the only living family member we have for Polanski, outside of Polanski's grandmother, Ruth, who lives in Northshore Nursing Care. I checked with them and she hasn't had any visitors in years."

Peter shifted his weight to one foot and leaned in further. The look on his face spoke volumes.

"Goeller's kept his nose clean since he was released. His most recent job was at a family car repair center called Bosco's Tire and Auto off of Central Ave. He worked there for almost three years as a mechanic. I spoke with the owner and he insisted Goeller was an excellent worker. He was very disappointed that he quit almost a year ago. He said he even allowed Goeller access to his shop late at night. Nothing was ever stolen. He said he was working on scraps and building cars from the bottom up. He was so impressed with him he still claims he'd take him back in a heartbeat."

"So he was doing good. Wait. When exactly did he quit? Right around the time Polanski was released?" Peter asked.

"He quit exactly one week after Polanski was released," Diana stated. "Right around the same time he packed up and left his apartment he had on the south side."

"You were right, I don't like this," Peter said dryly.

"Peter... there's more." Diana was strong at her job and wasn't going to sugar coat it. Though for once she was having a hard time telling her boss this information.

"Let me guess, I'm not going to like this either?" Peter looked her in the eyes with question.

"He took out a personal loan from his bank, in the sum of $15,000. He had good credit history and a couple of nice sports cars as collateral."

"Let me guess... he took the cash and ditched the cars?"

"Not only that, he maxed out his credit cards with cash advances and hasn't used them since. So tack another $12 grand to the $15."

Peter leaned back and ran one hand across his forehead. "How'd he ditch the cars?"

"I think it's irrelevant but I put a request in with NYPD to check it out and I will report back to you as soon as I hear anything." Diana opened one of her folders and turned it for Peter to see. "I do have a few recent photos of Goeller for Neal to view. One is his employee of the month photo which is pretty clear, one is taken from the bank when he took the loan out and two more of him at random ATMs."

Peter leaned forward again appearing frustrated.

"I can check on those cars again?"

"No... no... Diana..." he gave her a brief smile. "Excellent work. I couldn't have done it better myself. Neal didn't see Goeller. These photos won't help. Polanski is the only one he can identify. Polanski did the beating."

"I have Polanski's file here too."

Peter paced around the counter and put one hand on her shoulder. "Go get some sleep. You've done more than enough. I want to thank you for the extra time you put into this."

Diana hesitated then rested her hand on his. "This is personal. Neal's done a lot of bad things but I care about him too."

"I never said I cared about him. What ever gave you that idea?"

"He's on your sofa isn't he?"

"I... I won't ask you to do this. It IS personal, Diana. I want to kill this sonovabitch and I assure you, I will. You've done your job, now please, go home."

Diana smiled. "My girl's working nights again. So I can either go home to an empty bed and toss and turn or help. My gun's itching my side."

Peter smiled softly back. "Are you sure about this? I... I don't want to be the one responsible for ..."

"Where does your lady keep the coffee?"

500500500500500

_In an undisclosed warehouse..._

Al tossed another beer bottle against the wall. "Fucking Burke! I so can't wait!" He paced over to the dingy corner and grabbed another Cool's bottle and twisted the cap off, tossing it with frustration.

"Bro, please. I told you they have cops watching." Sam was physically shaking.

"_Bro_, _please_," Al mocked his words and threw his arms out, quivering them in physical contempt. "You are such a pussy! You owe me this and you are lucky! Sooooooooooooooo lucky!" He put his arms down and swayed over to Sam.

"This isn't a good idea. We already hurt his partner. I don't want to do this..."

"No one asked you what you wanted," Al spat, his putrid breath on Sam's neck he growled, "No one asked me if I wanted to serve five years did they? DID THEY? My own bro sold me out!" He threw the bottle in his hand, this one clanging against concrete it spilled and rolled.

"No Al. And I'm so... I'm sorry."

"Apparently not sorry enough!"

"I've done everything you've asked of me. I don't want you to go back. Look, we have enough money to just leave. Do something. Please?"

"Do you want my forgiveness?"

"More than anything." Sam flinched. He was certain he was getting punched.

"Good. Because you will get it. We..." Al surprised Sam by wrapping his arms around him. He rested his head on his shoulder and brought his arm up, swiping at Sam's hair. "We are all we have left. There is this one thing you need to help me with."

Sam embraced his brother back. "I don't want to kill anyone. Please don't ask that of me."

"Kill? No baby bro... we won't kill."

"Promise?"

Al grinned wide. "Let's go for a ride."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for the reviews. My format got fubar somehow trying to upload this. It looks like some fonts are larger than others. If so, please disregard. Just a small technicality. They don't mean any extra emphasis. It's time for me to get back to what I enjoy writing the most. Sorry Neal. I do it because I love you. I swear. :)

Unfinished Business

Chapter 6:

Almost a full pot of coffee later, Diana mechanically rubbed at her eyelids. It was a shame all Peter had was decaffeinated left in the house. Though she was pretty sure at this hour, even a tank truck of regular coffee wouldn't have helped. They had reviewed each file several times over and had come up with no new conclusions on Polanski or Goeller.

Peter didn't fail to notice his co worker was looking fatigued and spoke up. "Listen, Diana thanks again but I think it's time we call it a night."

Diana finished the remains of her now cold coffee in one big swig. With long slender fingers curled around the mug she responded. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Staying up all night going over the same damn files isn't helping. I just read the same line five times over and couldn't figure out what the hell I was reading…and I wrote it! I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to catch some shut eye. I'm hoping Neal stays out of it most the night with the pills he took but as bouncy as he normally is, I won't hold my breath."

"I'm pretty tired myself," Diana agreed, setting the mug on the center of the counter. "I'll leave the files here for you to review tomorrow. Maybe there's something we missed and maybe Neal can help out if he's feeling up to it."

"Tomorrow isn't that far away," Peter grumbled looking at his watch.

"I'll call you first thing in the morning," Diana insisted.

"Make it second or third thing and you got a deal."

"Maybe NYPD will pick up Polanski before then." Diana swung her purse over her shoulder to leave.

"That would be nice," Peter lied. He really wanted a piece of this bastard. He motioned for her to walk in front of him. "Let me see you out."

"I'll check on the officers and see if they need anything before I leave," Diana glanced at Neal on her way passed him. He hadn't moved from his position unless you counted the casted arm that was now hanging over the side of the sofa. His hand just barely brushed against the top of Peter's pet. Both of them were oblivious to the world. "Aren't they cute? Like bosom buddies," she teased.

"I can't tell from here which one is drooling more but I can make an educated guess," Peter quipped.

"The dog?" Diana laughed.

"You lose," Peter smirked.

"Tell Neal I hope he feels better. I'll talk to you early tomorrow."

"Not too early," Peter reminded her. "Let me know if the guys out there want any of my coffee."

"You want them to stay on guard, Peter not put them to sleep," she responded.

"I said I was sorry about that," Peter said defensively.

Diana wordlessly waved her arm as she proceeded down his front porch.

After seeing Diana out and verifying the cops stationed out front didn't need anything, Peter locked up for what he hoped the final time that night. He eased himself into the chair across from Neal. He removed his tie, shoes then socks and placed them all in a neat pile on the floor. He then removed his gun from its holster and placed it on the table next to the arm of his chair. He leaned back into the soft cushions, contemplating on waking Neal up just to check on him. He rationalized that doing so would only bring Neal back to the physical discomfort he was in and probably end up keeping them both up. He couldn't protect Neal when he was running on empty fumes. He briefly thought about the day's events and sighed in frustration. His eyes fluttered a couple times before closing shut.

500500500500500

Neal could feel his stomach churning in his sleep. It almost felt like he was on a roller coaster ride, except for the simple fact he didn't remember getting on one and he briefly wondered how the hell he was going to get off. What kind of rides operated in pitch black? As his eyes slowly came into focus he was grateful to learn he was just having some twisted dream… _or something_. His stomach rolled again making him feel extremely queasy. He slowly sat up, rubbing at his belly gently. The tingle in the back of his throat alerted him that if he didn't make it to the bathroom and soon, he was going to be listening to Peter yell for not listening to him earlier and he would most likely be on all fours cleaning up his own mess. With his body already aching all over, he decided walking up the steps would be less punishment than the alternative.

He glanced at Peter sound asleep in the chair across from him. He looked uncomfortable with his neck kinked to one side. From his slouched posture Neal figured he wasn't the only one that was going to wake up sore. He slowly rose to his feet and walked as quickly and quietly as he could, trying to suppress any moans as the pain radiated throughout his body. He took a few quick shallow breaths before grabbing the railing to the stairs and stepping up.

"Oh Gawd," he hissed out loud, squeezing the hand guard trying to relieve some of the agony. _Why couldn't Peter have a bathroom downstairs? Who the hell designed this place? Would crawling be easier? Na... probably not. _

Three steep steps up he was certain of three things. One, there was no way he was getting up all these steps without waking Peter, because two, there was no way he was getting up all these damn steps without crying out like a little bitch. That or falling down them. Most importantly three, he wasn't going to make it as he felt bile rising in his throat.

He sucked up the pain and practically slid back down the three steps, moving faster than he had since he was beaten. He rapidly made his way across the living room to the kitchen just in time to bend over the kitchen sink and hurl. He felt around his lowered head for the faucet and turned it, allowing ice cold water to cascade over him as he continued to vomit wine and bile. He braced himself against the sink cabinet feeling his mid section expand and contract.

Peter jerked awake, nearly falling out of the undersized chair he was in. He looked around with wide eyes. He heard water running and what sounded like... "Neal?" He looked over to the abandoned sofa and yelled louder. "NEAL?" He thought he heard Neal say something from the kitchen area. "YOU OKAY?"

He jumped up and nearly tripped over Satchmo who apparently had decided to lay next to his rightful owner. He didn't even think about the fact he had set his gun next to him. Instead he charged into the kitchen to find what appeared to be Neal trying to drown himself in the sink!

"Neal?" He leaned over the young man and watched him dry heave a couple more times. He braced one hand behind his back to insure he wouldn't slide down to the floor and injure himself further. "For God's sake!"

"I'm urgh... I got sick," Neal admitted.

"I see that," Peter responded in a short tone.

"You're angry..."

"No. I'm slightly annoyed. Are you okay?" Peter leaned sideways, one hand still braced on Neal's back as the other grabbed a hand towel that was hanging from the handle of the refrigerator.

"Yeah... I... think so..."

"Yeah... well you won't be if El finds out you vomited all over her dishes. Here, wipe your mouth," Peter waved the towel next to the sink and just as Neal fisted it Peter shut the water off. He watched as Neal coughed and gasped then ran the cloth over his own mouth.

"I'll keep this between us if you do," Peter said stepping back with one hand out just in case Neal couldn't recover on his own.

After a few moments Neal stood up, folded the towel and dabbed at his eyes. "Deal," he rasped.

"Do I need to take you back to the ER?" The slight irritation in Peter's voice was gone.

"No. That really sucked tho..." Neal tried to make light of it as he turned and took a few steps over to the kitchen table. Peter was right there with him and pulled a chair out for him. With a heavy sigh Neal positioned himself and whispered, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Neal glanced up at Peter slightly embarrassed. "Go ahead...say it."

Peter shook his head taking in his partner's appearance. Not only was he beat to hell with numerous shades of black, blue, purple, yellow and red sporting across his normally 'handsome' features, it looked like the rest of his skin that wasn't damaged was a light shade of green. He was soaked from the neck up, shivering, his hair all messed up spiking in every direction possible.

"Say what? I told you so? I'm not going to do that to you Neal. You've been through enough today," he playfully ran his fingers through Neal's new hairdo, making it stick up even more. "I will tell you what I am going to do. I'm going to run upstairs and get you a towel and a dry shirt... and a bucket." He paused and couldn't help but add, "Did you wet anything else?"

"No!" Neal's brows creased. "I tried to make it...you have a lot of stairs." Neal sounded so pathetic. _Like a small child. _

"You are like the kid I never wanted," Peter joked, looking up over Neal's wild hair his grin turned to a sudden frown.

They were sitting right in the location of the back porch. He could see light shining through one twisted blind on the glass sliding doors. _Their sensor lights_. Usually it was the neighbor's dog that set them off or an occasional raccoon trying to work its way into their garbage cans for a snack.

Suddenly an eye peered in through the glass, looking right at him!

"NEAL GET DOWN!"

It all happened so fast.

One of the said garbage cans came hurling through the sliding glass doors just as Peter gave the chair Neal was sitting in a heavy shove.

The sounds of glass penetrated the air like several wind chimes going off in the middle of a hurricane.

Neal's chair tipped hard and unprepared he went flying out of his seat and plunging across the kitchen floor. He screamed out in shocked pain as glass embedded itself into tender flesh.

The garbage can hit Peter square in the chest, sending him toppling back onto the kitchen table. The legs giving out from beneath the weight it sent Peter down to the floor on top of splintered wood. Breathless, the smashed metal can rolled from his chest as he rolled to his side, grabbing at the flare in his back.

Neal's forehead peeled open like skin off a potato as it cracked right into the ledge where the kitchen counter meet with tiled floor. The impact stopping his momentum he folded in on himself.

Al Polanski walked through the busted doorframe unscathed, gun in hand. He stood over Peter and smiled down at him evilly. "Hello Agent Burke, nice to see you again. Remember me?" He cocked the hammer back to his pistol and cocked his head sideways. "Yes? No? Maybe so?"

Sucking in heavy air, Peter slithered his hand up to his holster. His empty holster. "Oh crap!"

"Oh crap is an understatement," Al spat, bringing his heavy shoe down into Peter's center gut. Peter flinched upward, gasping for the air that he still couldn't catch.

"Come on Sam, grab the partner. We don't got much time."

"We have to take this party elsewhere," Al explained, bringing his attention back to Peter.

A low growl was heard across the room. Sam, who had just entered the kitchen looking afraid, peered over at the large 'vicious' dog.

"Holy shit Al! Look at the size of that mutt!"

"It's a fucking dog," Al shouted, pointing his gun towards the creature. "You are the one that didn't want to kill the cops out front so lets MOVE!" Un bothered by the dog he leered back at Peter. "We have some Unfinished Business!"

TBC.._. _


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 7

"Don't," Peter found himself managing to speak through gasps. "He's harmless."

"He don't look harmless to me!" Sam took a few steps back out of the kitchen area and onto the back porch and was turning as if he was going to make a run for it.

Al didn't even have to look back at his brother. "You run off and leave me here alone like before, you cowering little-chicken-shit, I will snap your neck myself! Now do as I told ya!"

Sam flinched and turned back towards the kitchen, his choppy actions showing his indecision.

Al's upper lip curled as he spoke to Peter. "I would love nothing more to kill your wannabe Cujo!" He turned the gun from Satchmo to Neal who was writhing on the floor. "I could have easily done it just now but I choose not to. See, I'm in control here on who lives and dies and killing dogs isn't part of my MO."

Peter knew he had to pick his next choice of words carefully. He was hoping against all good things in the world that the police out front had heard the commotion and were going to be charging in any second. "Your _MO_ consists of a crap load of petty theft that started at the age of 11. Right around the same time your real father was hauled off to prison for life on a murder charge. I'm sure you did it just to help your practically widowed mother out, right?" Peter slowly sat up and held his arms out, showing he wasn't going to try anything.

Al eyed Peter, his eyes dancing with fire.

"You gained a little brother from that when your mom remarried two long hard years later. You did what you had to do to help her with bills when your new dad passed away two months later from a heart attack." _One you no doubt caused him._ "He left your mom with two children now... no life insurance, no pension... nothing." Peter swallowed hard. The gun on Neal was freaking him to the core.

Al's finger squeezed the trigger slowly. The gun was about to explode in his grip. "So you've read my files. Left to right. Front to back. Upside down inside out! BLAH! You still don't know anything about me!"

Satchmo growled again then whimpered, edging his way towards Neal on his belly like a super sized mop he extended his big head out and licked Neal's extended palm.

"Come on Al, can we please just go? I can't..." Sam pleaded.

_Come on NYPD! You had to hear the commotion by now! _Peter thought about tackling Polanski at the knees but refrained himself. The gun could go off and he wasn't willing to take the risk of where the bullet would end up. "Listen... you served your time. I promise you this: If you surrender now, I will do everything in my power to make what you've done to him," he nodded over to Neal, "and here today... go away. Your brother can go back to the decent job he had. The decent life he had before you dragged him back down again."

Al shouted over his shoulder, "PICK UP HIS PARTNER NOW AND ALL IS FORGIVEN!"

Sam hesitated behind him but moved slowly and cautiously over to Neal. His eyes never left the dog that he was convinced was going to rip his juggler out. He grabbed Neal by the ankle with one hand then two and began dragging him towards the back door.

Neal cried out as his physical misery intensified all over. He could vaguely hear what the commotion was through the buzzing in his ears and tunneling vision. The only thing he was certain of at this point was Peter wouldn't let anymore harm come to him. Peter had it all under control. "Stttoppps hurrrtzzzz..."

"Please Sam," Peter moved to stand and the gun was suddenly pushed sharp against his forehead in a bruising manner.

_That's right, kill me now before I kill you. Leave Neal alone! _

"JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!" Al's face looked liked a pumpkin loaded with dynamite. It was exploding at any moment.

Peter closed his eyes. "Sam, the dog is harmless, I promise you. It's a fear you've always had since you watched your neighbor's Pit Bull attack..."

Al huffed and puffed and dug the gun so far into Peter's temple he was forced back against the broken table. "He's right, Sam. The dogs a pussy! Just like him! He's just trying to stall us! Are you with me or not?"

"I'm... with you. I'm just really scared."

A gun shot rang out.

"NOW MOVE SAM!"

TBC...

No harm to Satch, I promise. My family are goofs and I love them dearly. It's hard to write when they are having giggles without me.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for the reviews.

I know I switch from POVs, misspell words, confuse people, etc. but I write what I write in fun!

Unfinished Business

Chapter 8:

Paint chips and pieces of drywall showered over Neal and Satch as the bullet ripped through the ceiling above them. The sound of the gun going off was enough to frighten the gigantic dog. Satchmo turned and scampered out of the kitchen area with his tail between his legs.

Neal flinched then looked around confused for Peter. The blood from the fresh cut in his forehead was drizzling down over the bridge of his nose and into both his eyes making his vision impaired. Small flakes from the ceiling material dotted the blood trails on his face and salted his dark hair. "Pet…er?"

"I'm over here," Peter frowned.

Al stood over Peter with the gun already trained back on him. "Told ya he was a pussy like his owner, Sam... now grab the partner and move! You know the cops out front heard that!"

With the dog out of the way, Sam now feared getting arrested more than getting chewed to death by the hell-beast. As he let go of Neal's ankle with one hand he called out to his brother. "Al, there's some weird thing on this guy's ankle. I think you should check it out. It has a light on it like a bomb or somethin'!"

"Yeah okay, I will when we get back to the crib. Stop wastin' time." Al was clearly annoyed and getting impatient with his little brother.

Sam wasted no more time. He dropped Neal's leg and stepped around him, grabbing him not so gently by the busted arm he yanked Neal's upper body off the kitchen floor. When Neal cried out from the new round of pain and tried to recoil, Al came unglued.

"We don't have time for this!" He waved the pistol in front of Peter's face. "You, get up and help your worthless partner. You have five seconds before I unload the rest of these bullets in both of ya."

Al backed up a few steps and watched as Peter did as he was instructed. Forgetting his own sets of pains forming, he stood and made his way over to Neal. He gave Sam a death glare that seemed to work because Sam let go of Neal's arm and sidestepped out of the way.

Peter bent down and patted Neal on the shoulder. "Come on buddy, we gotta go. They are going to kill us if we don't go with them now."

Neal looked up at Peter with a somewhat dazed expression. He tried to blink the blood and dust away.

Peter resisted the urge to wipe his eyes with his shirt. He needed Neal to see but he didn't want to damage is eyes. There could be glass in them for all he knew. "Are you with me? I need all your help on this one... please focus."

Neal instantly held his arm out despite the throbbing and Peter quickly tucked his head underneath it and stood, dragging Neal up to his feet. With one hand bracing Neal's wrist on his shoulder, Peter put his arm around Neal's waist. "I'll carry most your weight but we gotta move."

To Peter's surprise, Neal didn't utter a word as he began moving his right leg then his left towards the backdoor. In fact, apart from being a little wobbly and breathing harder and louder than normal, Neal was carrying most of his own weight and moving faster than he had expected he would.

Both of them were barefoot and yet neither complained as shards of broken glass entered the bottoms of their feet.

A sense of pride washed over him as they made their way out the back busted door. Peter pulled Neal in a little more snug making sure none of the jagged pieces of glass still hanging from the metal frame didn't snag Neal anywhere.

They smoothly made their way across the wooden planks in a few strides. "Steps. Six of them," Peter announced as they approached them. "Come on, doing good," he coached.

Neal let out a few grunts and hisses with each step but kept moving through them. Once they hit grass they practically glided across the backyard.

Sam jumped off the back porch and ran ahead. As he pushed on the back gate door, it swung open on its hinges with ease. Just beyond that the van sat waiting for their getaway.

As Al followed them, he kept the gun on the back of Peter's skull but continued to look behind him. He began to snicker internally. He had to admit that this was by far the stupidest thing he had ever done. Kidnaping two federal agents from the home of one of them, with cops posted out front! Yet here he was getting away with it. He knew he was going to have to kill both of them. There was no way he was going back to prison in this lifetime. He'd rather die himself then go back. In fact, it felt like he already spent a lifetime in prison and this was his second one. He never pictured himself going straight once he got out. A weird tingling sensation ran up the back of his spine as he began to mentally picture torturing Peter's partner in front of him. He was going to make Peter beg for forgiveness. Then he was going to make him beg for him to end the suffering of his partner. Yes, the evening was indeed just starting out.

500500500500500

He had plenty of time to trace back the events. Plenty of chances to make things turn out different. Obviously he wasn't the best. Why did he leave his gun on the table? Why didn't he tackle Polanski when he thought he had the chance?

Why did he black out only to wake up again handcuffed to some nasty pipe only to see Neal hanging by ropes?

His voice was hoarse from screaming.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks for the reviews.

Warning: There is torture in this chapter. Unfortunately, enough that I must say Neal will never look as handsome as he did before my fic. However, I know of someone with a magic elevator that will heal him when this is all over. Of course, that will leave him gorgeous and whole again... leaving me no choice to write another fic about him to inflict more damage. It's a viscous cycle. :) This one if for you, Chris. I hope I do it justice. I love ya girl!

**Unfinished Business**

Chapter 9:

Peter had been hit upside the head the second they made it to the van. He now sported a big round knot at the base of his skull. He assumed he got pistol whipped but whatever he was hit with was irrelevant at this point. His clothing was filthy and torn like he had been dragged into the warehouse they were in. His left wrist was handcuffed to some nasty pipe in the corner of the room. He was half sitting half laying up against the wall.

The only light in the room came from several super sized candles that were slowly being burned away and melting into the concrete floor.

Once Peter gathered his thoughts and focused, he gasped in alarmed surprise. There, several feet in front of him hung Neal. The young man's wrists had been bound tightly by heavy rope that was strung over a ceiling support. His feet hung limp inches from the floor causing his entire body to stretch and hang as a heavy anchor to his arms and shoulders. His t-shirt had been stripped from him. The only thing covering him were his sweat pants that hung low on his thin hips. His head was down and his eyes were closed.

Peter took in all of Neal's injuries from earlier. The new laceration dead center on his forehead still bled freely down his face but appeared to have slowed some. It also looked like the stitches above his eye, or at least a couple of them had been ripped out but he couldn't be sure with the makeshift lighting and the way some of Neal's bangs stuck to his skin. There was extra rope tied around Neal's injured arm and the cast was now a murky shade of black. The sick bastard had removed the tape from Neal's ribs exposing the darkly bruised bones. In fact, his entire chest was full of random bruising and cuts. He didn't even want to imagine what his back looked like.

Peter began tugging hard on the pipe, testing its strength. He used his right hand to test the tightness of the shackle around his left wrist, growling out loud with frustration.

"Ironic huh?"

Peter stopped and looked at Neal again who slowly lifted his head. "Ironic I get strung up with rope and you get cuffed, huh?" A light smirk formed then disappeared on Neal's lips.

"How's that ironic?" Peter glared at Neal but continued rolling the shackle back and forth on his wrist.

"Well... cause I can pick locks. If I was cuffed I'd already have us out of here." Neal let out a small chuckle that turned into a deep cough. "Don't... don't get me laughing Peter. It hurts."

Peter thought about his words a second then replied, "You are right. That _is_ ironic. Maybe it's time for me to take the Neal Caffrey's lock picking 101 class?" He shook his head at Neal. "And you are the one clearly entertaining yourself. I find nothing amusing about our predicament." Now that Neal's head was up he took a hard look at his damaged face and asked. "How are you feeling?"

Neal licked at his lips. "I could use more wine... and _one_ pain pill."

"Yeah well I seemed to forget to bring those. That tracker still on your ankle or did they cut and drop it?" He couldn't tell due to the bulky sweats that bunched up around Neal's ankle.

Before Neal could respond, a loud door slammed and a voice echoed out. "I see my guests are awake," Al came into view with a cigarette in one hand, beer bottle in the other. He walked up behind Neal and kicked him hard in the back, sending him swinging forward in his bondage.

"AAAAArrgghhhhhhh!" Neal yelled as the ropes dug further into his flesh. He arched his head upward and pointed his toes trying to gain some purchase. His toes just dragged across the floor as he swung back and forth several times.

"YOU BASTARD!" Peter began to frantically pull at the pipe again.

Al let out a hearty chuckle. "That I am... takes one to know one." He threw the beer bottle at Peter and luckily his aim was off. It shattered a good foot above his head and a few inches over. Still, he was sprayed with alcohol and busted bottle.

Peter just swiped at the chunks of glass that landed on his shirt and eyed Al up. "Your beef is with me... just let him go."

Al got a look as if he was actually contemplating the idea. He held his arm out and stopped Neal from swaying. It was another blow as the arm racked him across the lower stomach. He couldn't draw into himself which intensified the agony.

Neal's eyes squeezed shut, his mouth clenched closed he breathed hard puffs of air through his nostrils.

Al looked up at Neal's wrists and grinned as he followed the trails of blood that were dripping off the ropes and running down both his arms. "Why would I do that?"

"Because he's not FBI," Peter exclaimed. "He's a no good thief just like you!"

Al clicked his tongue. "Now is that anyway to talk about your partner? Are you true to anyone, _Agent_?" He took a heavy drag of his cigarette, looked Neal up and down again then extinguished it into the tender area below Neal's armpit.

Neal bucked and attempted to twist away from the burning sensation. "Gaaaaaaawwdddd!"

Peter yanked at his cuff again. "He's not my partner! My boss assigned him to me! He's a consultant for the FBI! And a piss poor one at that! He belongs behind bars just like you!" Peter knew he was grasping at straws. His own actions were betraying the words he was spewing out.

Al just tipped his head back and howled in laughter. "Ahhh, you're a trip, Agent Burke. You expect me to believe that? I've watched you two for awhile now. Any fool can see you've taken a liking to this little shit... consultant, FBI or otherwise."

Neal spoke through a pained voice. "It's true. It's his job to look after me..." He let out another round of wet coughs before he continued. "Check...check my ankle..."

"You should have listened to your brother," Peter warned. "That device is a tracker. No doubt the FBI and the half of NYPD that are competent at their jobs will be charging in at any second."

Al snorted then lifted up Neal's right pants leg.

"Other ankle... _moron_." Neal hissed between breaths.

Skeptical, Al lifted the other side, exposing the device.

Neal knew it was going to hurt but lifted his leg up and kicked him as hard as he could muster.

Al backed away rubbing at his chin. "You little punk!"

"Good one, Neal!"

"I was aiming for his nose! I... Oh damn that smarts. I want THREE pills NOW!"

Peter grinned at Polanski. "The light is red, Polanski, which means Neal is out of his allowed two mile radius. Sirens have been going off at FBI headquarters. It's over."

"Huh... well I'll be..." Al shrugged it off. "This doesn't change anything." He paced the length of the room and picked up an old thick piece of wood that was in the corner. "First things first... break this thing..." He began swinging the wood around like it was a baton.

"That's not gonna work!" Peter's eyes widened as he made his way back to Neal.

"Oh but I think it will." He lifted the wood back with both hands gripping the base and called, "Batter up!" He swung the wood into Neal's ankle. A loud pop sounded loudly and Neal tipped his head back, letting out the most horrifying cry Peter had ever heard.

500500500500500

He had plenty of time to trace back the events. Plenty of chances to make things turn out different. Obviously he wasn't the best. Why did he leave his gun on the table? Why didn't he tackle Polanski when he thought he had the chance?

His voice was hoarse from screaming. He had watched Polanski hit Neal numerous times with that piece of wood. Neal had blacked out minutes before. He begged Polanski to stop to no avail.

"YOU'RE KILLIN' HIM! I BEG YOU! STOP!" He pleaded again as he watched his friend hang deathly still save for the momentum the sickening swings brought.

Al had tuckered himself out. He dropped the board that was now saturated with Neal's precious blood. "Damn that was a work out!" He gave Peter an evil smug look. "Better work out than the ones I had in prison. Ya know... with all that free time I had in between plotting my revenge."

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Peter was up on his feet pulling at the pipe like a rabid animal. His own wrist slick with sweat and blood he had done everything to get free but chew his own hand off. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his raged mind.

Al ignored his threat. "I'm thirsty. Where is that back stabbing bro of mine? I send him for beer and it takes him forever. He probably got side tracked with... I dunno... a grasshopper chewing on grass perhaps? I love him dearly, but all his lights aren't on upstairs if ya know what I mean."

Peter said nothing. He kicked at the pipe one last time then sunk down onto his butt. He fixed his watering eyes on Neal and just stared at him.

"Ahhhh buck up! Is the once great Agent Burke reduced to tears? He's not dead. You may not see it from your angle but he's breathing... barely." Al pulled a soft pack of Marlboro's out of his shirt pocket and pulled one out of the pack with his teeth before depositing the pack back. He lit the cigarette and took a heavy drag.

Again, Peter said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Nothing.

"Well, I gotta see what's takin' Sam so long. Don't miss me too much. I'll be back." He turned to leave then bent down, flicking his bic under Neal's barefoot he held the flame there, rousing Neal awake his head jerked back and his foot twitched. A guttural moan escaped his throat.

"See? He's not dead... yet." With that Al stood and left the room, slamming the door on his exit.

As soon as Al was gone, as if on cue, a single tear rolled down Peter's dirt covered cheek. He cleared his parched throat. "Neal?"

"Mmmmmmm..."

He couldn't believe after that beating Neal could even hear him, much less be semi responsive. "I'm sorry."

There was a long silent pause.

"Forrr-whatz?" Neal spoke again, words slurred and barely audible but Peter understood them.

"For not protecting you." He couldn't handle looking at Neal's battered body anymore. He brought his knees up, put his free arm over them and put his head down. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled again.

Neal couldn't move. Every inch of him was on fire. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe! He wasn't getting much oxygen in between his shallow gasps. But he had to stay awake for Peter. If only he could talk more clearly. "1...0...1."

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks so much for all the reviews. I'm so happy some of you are enjoying my twisted little story.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 10:

Peter accused Neal of having a bad concussion when he brought up lock picking.

Sure, Neal had mastered lock picking but it was his trade. Peter never had the pleasure. Though, now that he thought about it, he wondered why FBI agents weren't trained for this sort of thing? He'd have to bring the topic up at their next quarterly meeting. Neal could easily be the one training them so there was no way Hughes could complain about funding. Yes, that was a brilliant idea! As soon as he got this lock picked and Neal to safety.

_Focus._ It was so hard to focus. He looked back up at Neal who had passed out again. He was trembling so hard he was slightly swinging himself from the ropes. Was that a symptom of shock? Was it just cold in here? Given the temperature outside and the lack of heating in this run down building, it had to be.

Then why was he wiping sweat from his own eyes? Who would have thought something that took no physical energy whatsoever could cause a man to perspire profusely? It had to be all mental. He took another rub at the salty fluid dripping from his forehead and went back to work.

Neal's lock picking 101 instructions were short and to the point. They involved bending a paperclip, pushing it halfway into the lock, bending the tip of the clip into a 50-degree angle arc, taking it out, putting the clip above the pin in the flat part of the lock, sliding in-between the notches while applying pressure and _presto get us the hell out of here. _

Of course it took Neal what felt like an hour to spit that many instructions out. Peter had to listen closely and ask him several times to repeat words that were so heavily slurred he couldn't make them out. Neal paused several times to cough. It sounded more like gargling and when the speckles of blood spewed onto his lips with his last cough it almost sent Peter into another raging fit of yanking that pipe from the wall or ripping his own arm off trying.

Instead, Peter repeated Neal's instructions back, hoping he had them straight.

Neal's breath hitched and he moaned his approval.

Heartbroken and feeling helpless, Peter had to inform him he didn't carry paperclips and unfortunately, there weren't any within his reach. The only pointy objects even close to him were in the form of used syringes and the closest one to him would be a gymnastic olympian stretch of the leg.

Neal's last word was 'Improvise' before his eyes rolled into his head and his head lolled across his chest.

_Improvise_. Peter had ripped his belt off so fast the friction marks across his back were already stinging. Between chewing on the leather with his teeth and digging his strong nails in the buckle it became free.

_Improvise. _There was a bobby pin in his wallet. He had accidently pulled it out El's hair when he caressed her goodbye at the airport. She had snorted and told him to hold onto it until she got back and that he "better not lose it".

He continued to struggle with the lock._ Focus. Improvise._

BAM!

The door nearly ripped from it's rusty hinges.

"Sorry Al! I didn't bring them here!"

"Do you realize what you did!"

"Al, please, I think they were on to us. Don't blame me."

"I'm talking to Agent Burke, not you!"

TBC... one chapter left.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you so much for all the encouraging and fantastic reviews. I'm proud to say this is the first fic I have ever completed (outside the ones I've written for my 500 Sistas). Endings are always hard for me for some reason. It may not be the greatest and I may add one more chapter if the muse allows, but it's been awesome writing for this fandom. You are a friendly and accepting bunch and I look forward to writing more. Neal says he doesn't look forward to it... I hope that's acceptable...

Unfinished Business

Chapter 11:

His upper lip lifted from his teeth. "You! You brought them here!" Al had his gun drawn and pointed directly at Peter. His receding hairline exposed a shiny layer of sweat. His eyes were wide and for the first time, Peter could actually see fear in them.

Peter made the assumption the calvary had arrived. _Finally_.

He felt a sudden relief. Not because his team had arrived. But because the blame was falling on him and not the one bearing the tracking device.

He continued to concentrate and slowly work at the lock to the cuff despite the fact he couldn't hide his efforts from Polanski and Goeller. He had discarded the belt buckle as he decided the loop fastener was too thick and unmanageable. He had already said a silent prayer to God and vowed to El he'd come home early every day for the rest of their lives together if her bobby pin did the trick.

"I'm not going back to prison. You ruined my life!" Al shouted balling his free hand into a fist he held it to his skull in despair.

"My offer still stands," Peter responded. "You give up now I will do everything in my power..." He hated putting the offer out there but the cards were still in Polanski's favor. He could easily blow them both away at any given moment.

"We don't have a choice, Al. Come on let's just do as he says," Sam pleaded.

"Not a chance. He can't win!" Al shouted back to his brother. "You didn't do time like I did! He didn't RUIN YOUR LIFE!"

"Let's make a run for it out the back then. Come on... he ain't worth it!" Sam tried again.

"ARE YOU KIDDIN' ME? DID YOU SEE HOW MANY PIGS ARE OUT THERE!"

"You are ruining your brother's life right now, Polanski. Don't do that to him. If you love him like you say, DON'T!" Peter looked over his shoulder to Sam. "Goeller, don't let him ruin your life. You are a good person. I know that! Just walk outside slowly with your hands up high. Give yourself up now before it's too late for you. Don't let him drag you down again!"

Goeller looked scared and confused. Looking around he whimpered, "Won't they just shoot me on sight?"

"DON'T TELL MY BROTHER WHAT TO DO!" Polanski yelled, pacing forward he was mere inches from Peter he held the gun to the center of his chest. The fear mixed with hate in his eyes suddenly turned to a grey vacant one. "No matter what happens here tonight, _Agent _Burke, you WILL feel the pain I've felt. One way or another!" With that he swung around and pointed the weapon at Neal's chest.

"!"

_Click_...

The cuff loosened from his wrist and before his mind could catch up with his body, an adrenaline fueled Peter shook the cuff free and leaped onto Polanski's back with both his arms raised. As one forearm swiped Polanski's gun hand out towards the right, Peter's other arm brought his elbow down hard into Polanski's upper shoulder blade and neck.

The weapon fired off a round before flying across the room and skidding into the wall to lay silent.

Peter landed on top of Polanski and the fight began. Arms and legs flailing, Peter had him on his back and was thrusting his fists hard into anything and everything he could. He heard his own knuckle bones cracking as he missed Polanski's squirming form and hit concrete but continued throwing punch after punch.

Polanski lifted his head, knowing he was bested. "Sam! The gun..."

Peter grabbed Polanski by both ears, ready to slam his face down into oblivion when the door burst open... a herd of shielded officers charged in.

Lights and friendly guns.

_Freeze!_

_Hold your weapons! _

_Room secure! _

_We got it from here, Peter. Peter, you can let go. _

_Bring the meds in. Cut him down. Peter? _

The End.


	12. Author's Note

Author's Note:

You guys are so right. It was a vague ending. After re-reading I do have plenty more to add! I seriously suck at endings but I can think of a way better one that will fit right in. I just can't leave Neal hanging (no pun intended ha ha) like that. So thanks for the comments and a big fat TBC… :)


	13. Chapter 13

And the story continues. Not much further but hopefully with a more satisfactory ending. :)

Unfinished Business

Chapter 12:

Everything felt surreal to Peter. He could feel the warmth of adrenaline pulsing through his veins and the throbbing of his overtaxed forearms. His heart was beating so fast he could feel his eardrums vibrating in sync. He held onto Polanski's ears with his bloodied fists and watched as several FBI and NYPD charged into the room with Barrigan and Jones heading up the posse.

Voices and shouts slowly registered to him over the beat.

_Freeze! _

_Hold your weapons! _

_Room secure! _

_We got it from here, Peter. Peter, you can let go. _

_Bring in the medics. Cut him down. Peter? _

With his head forcefully held up, Polanski had a clear view of where the stray bullet went during the brief struggle. "NOOOO! SAM!" Al wailed looking a few feet from him to where his brother lay on his back. Blood and brain matter sprayed the wall where Sam had been standing and a pool of it had already formed around Sam's lifeless form.

"SOMEONE HELP HIM! SAM!" Al screamed, struggling again to break free of Peter's strong grip.

Diana was behind Peter instantly resting her free hand on his shoulder. "I got it from here, Peter," she repeated, giving him time to slowly let go of Polanksi and move off of him. She was on him fast; tucking her gun away she whipped out her cuffs and not so gently slapped both his wrists into them.

Peter's eyes trailed from Diana, back to Polanski, back to Sam, then to Neal. "Neal! So help me God you better still be breathing! Someone help me cut him down!" He stood tall fast, swaying in the process. Jones was next to him extending his arms to his shoulders in an attempt to keep him upright. "You okay? Just relax. The medics are here already. We've already informed your wife. She's on the next flight back and will meet you at the hospital. I told her the hospital was just a precaution. I didn't want to alarm her..."

Jones was grateful he didn't lie to Elizabeth. He wanted to put that out there and let Peter know his life partner was coming. However, watching him he knew now wasn't the appropriate time. Peter's eyes were fixed on Neal and he was already shaking Jones off. He headed towards his severely injured friend, saying yet another silent prayer that Neal would pull through this.

"Peter, let the medics determine how to get him down," Diana advised, motioning for a NYPD officer to take over dragging Polanski up and out.

Polanski was still screaming about his brother but his shouts fell on deaf ears. "HELP HIM! HE NEVER DID NOTHIN'! PLEAZZEEE!"

Diana had half the mind to tell him his brother was dead. It would be the truth. Goeller had a gunshot wound straight through the eye and out the back of his skull. From her brief experience, he must have been dead on impact. That impact couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago judging by condensation from the hot blood mixed with cold air.

At least now she could breathe easier knowing the gunshot they heard on their way into the raid wasn't for Peter or Neal.

Part of her wanted to drag Polanski over to him and force his face down to see Goeller's dead eyes... or eye, in this case. Truth be told, she still wasn't used to seeing dead bodies and she never would be.

Instead she whispered into his ear, "You better hope and pray Neal lives, because I can assure you right now, neither of you will make it to the jailhouse if he doesn't."

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"EASY!" Peter was right there as Neal was lowered onto a board. "Hold on buddy! You are going to be fine," he whispered. Turning his head, "GET THOSE ROPES OFF HIS ARMS. WATCH HIS ANKLE. HIS BACK MAY BE BROKE. HIS RIBS ARE! EASY!"

The agitated medic scolded him. "Sir, we can't help him with you screaming in my ear. Please move." He was dripping with blood himself and more than likely contaminating her patient.

"SORRY... SOrry..." Peter toned down stepping back on one foot he jerked forward to hold his posture. When Neal started to rouse he let out a slight grown. Peter was back next to him, "He's in pain. Stop. STOP MOVING HIM SO MUCH! WHERE ARE HIS PAIN MEDS? IS HE GOING TO BE OKAY? NEAL?"

The medic looked up at Peter, instantly recognizing the FBI agent. "I remember you." She looked back to her patient. Last time she treated him he looked horrible but now there were no words. She remembered their special bond from the first meeting. "You two are having one helluva rough week," she commented. "I know you are concerned but getting in the way isn't going to help him. Will you please let me treat him?"

Peter's frantic eyes meet hers.

"We should stop meeting like this. My name is Tish."

"Tish. Yes, I remember you. I'm sorry. I uh… is there anything I can do?"

"You can start with not bleeding all over him. Back away. There is more gauze in our kit to the right. Is there a possibility there is glass in your wounds?" When Peter shook his head she added, "Good. Then place some gauze over the wounds and press gently. This will help with clotting." She noticed the swelling. "Looks broken."

"Feels broken," Peter responded, doing as she instructed.

She looked back down at her patient. "Neal right? I remember you. I never forget a handsome face. If you wanted my phone number you could have just asked." She quickly began to stabilize him for transport.

Neal's dark eyelashes fluttered as he attempted to open his swollen eyelids.

"Just take it easy. Give us a minute here and we will be on our way to the hospital." Tish held out a pin light and actually felt guilty as she had to touch the swollen flesh around his eyes to check for dilation. She wasn't pleased with what she seen. "Pupils dilated. Eyes glassy."

"What do we got, Bill?"

Peter chewed on his lip nervously as Bill began to run down the list of physical injuries. Neal was a mess. It was a miracle he was breathing on his own. As if on cue, Neal began to seizure.

"He's crashing," Bill shouted as Neal thrashed on the board. There were a few sickening gasps from him as if he was having problems getting oxygen. No sooner did the seizure begin it stopped… along with Neal's heartbeat.

TBC…


	14. Chapter 14

Unfinished Business

Chapter 14:

Peter sat upright and sideways on his hospital bed with his legs slung over touching the floor. He distantly stared at his hands that rest on his kneecaps. Both were covered in fresh gauze and lightly wrapped in bandages.

He had required several stitches between six knuckles. The doctor claimed she would be back after radiology had time to process his x-rays but she was certain she would be fitting him with a cast as she believed the right wrist was fractured.

Peter didn't want any pain mediation during the stitching but El was already by his side and her and the doctor both insisted on it. He was in no mood to put up an argument. He was physically and emotionally drained.

Truth was, he wanted to feel the pain as the needle ran through his ripped flesh. It wouldn't be anything in comparison to what Neal had gone through but at least he could get a small sample. He deserved to feel some physical pain. He wanted so badly to switch places with Neal.

He had lost Neal three times already. That he knew of, anyway. Once in the abandoned building, once in the ambulance and a third time as he was being wheeled through the emergency room doors. That one was the hardest for him. He was told, more like forced, to stay back as he watched his friend rolled further and further from his grasp.

El was in tears when the doctor told them it was a miracle none of his fingers looked broken. He had snorted and said very curtly something along the lines of, "There better be a ******* miracle tonight and it has nothing to do with my ****** fingers!"

The doctor had excused herself shortly after his outburst and El wasn't far behind her. She had told Peter she would find out what was going on with Neal if she could and be right back.

'Right back' felt like a century. He had time to ponder the events over the past... how many hours? What day was it? How long had Neal been tortured? The longer he thought about the ordeal Neal had gone through, and what he would be going through _if _he was still alive, the more anger he felt brewing inside towards Polanski. He should have killed the bastard! He had him in the position and he froze! WHY?

"Hun?" El called to her husband. When there was no response she tried again. "Peter?"

Peter didn't realize he was tearing up until he looked directly at her. She was blurry through the fluids gathering in his eyes but he recognized that voice and right now, it sounded like an angel to him.

"Hey," he whispered in a choked voice. "When did," he cleared his throat, "when did you get back?"

She just stood there a moment taking in her husband's vulnerable form. Never had she seen him looking this upset. Not even at his own father's funeral. This was the first time she seen him reduced to tears and it broke her heart.

"El... I'm..."

"I'm so sorry I ever let you out of my sight," she responded in her equally upset voice. She moved in on him fast and in an instant she had wiggled her body between his legs. As his injured hands slowly fell to his sides, her arms wrapped around his neck in a tight embrace. His head fell into the soft of her neck and he began to openly sob into her hair. "I'm so sorry El... I'm..."

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh," she cooed, giving his neck a gentle squeeze she began to release her tight hold on him only to have Peter move forward, demanding more. She squeezed her spouse harder. "Diana filled me in. None of this is your fault. You can't blame yourself for any of this."

"Don't lie to me El! It's all MY fault! Do you realize if you weren't away... what they would have done to you? What they did to NEAL! Because of ME?"

"Peter..."

"In OUR HOUSE EL! And I couldn't do a DAMN THING!"

"Peter please DON'T do this! I wasn't HOME! It doesn't matter about me! Diana says you saved Neal," she massaged his back, feeling one giant tension knot.

"Did you SEE what they DID TO HIM!"

"PETER!" She could feel him getting worked up more underneath her and pulled herself away. "LOOK AT ME!"

Peter wiped away his tears with his forearm in one quick swipe.

"I have NEVER lied to you baby and I'm NOT about to start now! You need to calm yourself down!"

"EL THEY..."

"EXACTLY!" She had to keep her own tears at bay as she continued. "THEY PETER- NOT YOU!" She paced around the length of his small hospital room. "THEY did this and I will not sit by and watch my man blame himself!"

Peter was silent as he watched her pace back and forth.

"You did what you could, you know that! We all know that! Blaming yourself isn't going to help the situation! Those sick, no EVIL men, did this! One is in the morgue and the other is going away for a very very long time! I wish we lived in a different state right now because the death penalty is in order in my book!"

Peter knew his lady had fury but never seen her bring it with this much passion. "Is?" Peter asked with hesitation in his voice. He didn't really want to know. Yet he had to know and she was the best person to tell him.

She stopped pacing and looked directly at him. "Is what Peter?"

"Is he... Neal?"

"Oh God... NO... I'm sorry. He's in surgery. As soon as he's out someone will be here. Diana assured me."

Peter sighed. "Diana is here? I thought she'd see to the prisoner..."

"No. She's here. Along with Clinton and Reese. They are all worried about you and Neal." El smiled gently at Peter.

Peter sighed again. "Remind me again why you get to call my boss by his first name and not me?"

El could see some of the tension leaving Peter. "Because he respects me more?"

Peter huffed.

"I think it's really personal with Diana. She almost gave Mozzie another broken bone."

Peter straightened up."Wait, what? Mozzie is here? How did he?"

"I stopped by the house before the hospital. He was in our bushes. He jumped out and I maced him. And kicked him in the nose. Kind of sorta breaking it." El looked almost guilty. "What? He scared me!"

"Maybe you should have been home. You could have protected the both of us."

"I felt bad until he caused a big stink in the waiting room. Diana had to cuff him."

Peter almost smiled. "I love you."

"I love you too. Neal will make it through this. He is strong."

TBC...


	15. Chapter 15

I do believe some of this may seem out of character to some of you. However, this is written through my perception. As a fanfic writer, I believe each viewer sees things their own way. Or perhaps the way they want them to be. What ever the case may be, I believe that expresses our individuality as fans. Thanks for reading and reviewing mine and sticking with my first WC story. I hope you enjoy the final chapters.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 15:

After talking with El a little while longer she convinced him to stretch out in his bed and relax. He eagerly awaited the news on Neal but exhaustion won and his body slowly drifted off into a restless slumber.

That restless slumber turned into pure hell.

He was trapped in a nightmare where Neal had died hanging from them ropes. He had to watch those cold blue eyes stare back at him for what felt like eternity. Just when he reached insanity Polanski was in his face taunting him, blaming him, telling him it was his doing. When he tried to argue he realized he was holding the bloodied board. He was the one that had beat Neal to death.

He dropped the board and stared at his blood-slick splintered hands. _I didn't do this!_

He looked up to view Neal's backside. Tattered flesh hung from busted bone. _No!_ He tried to back away but some unseen force held him there.

Polanski was in his face again, laughing so hard saliva spewed from his mouth as he spoke. _Yes, you did Agent Burke! You did this! How can you ever look yourself in the mirror for this transgression? _

Peter cocked his arm back and swung his fist hard into thin air.

Polanski was fast.

Peter looked to where Neal's dead body was hanging.

He was gone.

_Neal? _

Neal appeared next to him. _I'm right here Peter. _

Peter turned and faced his friend. He looked horrible. He stood before him in a bloodied sheet. Taking a few slow wet steps, several machines hung from his arms and dragged on the floor creating multiple thuds and screeches.

_Neal! I'm so sorry. You are alive! Oh thank God! _

Neal's form fluttered in and out. _No Peter. I'm not. I wanted to see you one last time. To let you know this wasn't your fault. _

Peter tried to touch him but still couldn't move. _I don't understand, Neal. _

_You will. _

Peter strained again to move forward. _Please Neal! Don't go! I never got the chance to tell you how much I appreciate you. How much I value your input. How much I... admire you! How much I care about you! _

Suddenly Peter was free to move and reached out for Neal just as he too vanished into thin air. His eyes wide open he was upright in bed gasping, "NEAL!"

"I'll get the Doctor," the Nurse hurried from the room.

"PETER!"

Sweat soaked and gasping, he focused on El who was at the foot of his bed.

"Are you with me babe?"

After a few moments of heavy breathing, he finally commented. "Yeah. Nightmare. How long was I out?"

"Over three hours."

"Any word on Neal's condition?"

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"I didn't have the heart to keep him cuffed, Sir," Diana spoke softly to Peter as he gazed through the glass section of the IC door.

"He doesn't deserve to be. He's rightfully upset," Peter responded.

"He threatened to kill you and all 'Suits' so technically he does," Diana counter spoke. "If I may, I would like to come in with you?"

Peter sighed. "I will be fine."

"If you say so." Diana opened the door for him. He nodded his thanks and entered the room.

Neal looked worse than his nightmare. Tubes upon tubes upon machines. He was paler than he'd ever seen him. He felt dizzy as he approached his bed. He ignored the pain as his hand braced the bed railing to stop himself from falling over.

Mozzie stopped speaking and looked up to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see my friend," Peter responded.

"Oh really? Your friend?" Mozzie's nostrils flared. "Excuse me, Neal, I have several words to say with the Jackass Suit!"

Peter waived one arm. "Please. Not now."

Mozzie let go of Neal's hand and stood.

"Not now? That's not so funny, cause I told MY friend now was NEVER a good time to make deals with the likes of YOU!"

"I need... to talk... to Neal," Peter practically fell into the seat on the opposite side of his bed.

"You've talked enough. Neal went along with your bullshit for far too long. Placing that chip on him like a fucking animal! I have you know I have other people that can take care of him than this place. And it will be far FAR away from YOU SUITS!" Moz had to remove his glasses to clear them.

"Us fighting won't change this," Peter said eerily calm.

"If you say so," Moz spat. "He didn't put himself into this coma now did he!"

TBC...


	16. Chapter 16

Happy New Year readers! It won't be long now until new episodes. Cheers to some good Neal angst in the second half of season two. And of course, long live Mozzie. Speaking of Moz, if anyone can help out, for my final chapter I'd like to reference the name he used when he was introduced to Peter. For some reason the name Dante stands out in my brain. Is that right? Any help is appreciated.

As always, thanks for the continued reviews.

Unfinished Business

Chapter 16:

Two Weeks Later:

Peter slouched forward gently fondling the velvet soft blue ribbon that wrapped around a beautiful multi colored vase. Inside said vase were an even more beautiful arrangement of flowers. He didn't want to pry but seen the name "Alex" handwritten on the card that stuck out between peddles and stems.

"So Alex is the mystery woman that sent you these flowers," Peter spoke to Neal. Knowing this would be a one sided conversation, just like their last thousand conversations had been the past couple weeks, he didn't pause for a response. "The vase looks expensive. I wonder if it's stolen?" He lightly chuckled and stroked Neal gently on the arm. "I know. Always on the job. Don't worry, if it is I can overlook it this once. I promise I won't take it in to be checked." He leaned even more forward and took a big whiff. "These smell better than El's perfume." He stroked Neal's arm one more time. "Now don't go telling her that."

Neal's Doctor had informed him earlier that morning that there was no change. Every morning for the past two weeks he stumbled in to hear the same news. Sure, his broken bones and multiple wounds were healing with each passing day, but none of that helped the fact that Neal just wouldn't wake up.

And there was that other issue that he refused to even think about.

The Doctor had assured him that he would wake up in his own time.

Peter had been on leave of absence from work nursing his own right fractured wrist. Hughes had also insisted on mandatory consoling before he returned to active duty. He hadn't even arranged for that yet. He crawled out of bed every morning in the hopes there would be a change and made his way to the hospital.

He had crossed paths with Mozzie a few times during visitations. In the beginning it was awkward and Mozzie remained hostile. After a few days Mozzie's hostility began to fade. After all, as Peter had informed him, he wasn't going anywhere and them bringing animosity into the room with Neal couldn't be a positive thing.

This particular morning Mozzie hadn't shown up. That was strange, considering like clockwork, Mozzie was always there at 9 am sharp. He was an odd man for sure but a stickler about making certain "appointments", as he had called his meetings with Neal. Peter always gave him the courtesy of privacy and sat in the hall. He truly was a great friend to Neal. In fact, outside of the flowers from Alex that were delivered, no one had visited Neal besides him, El and a couple people from the department.

Peter checked his watch. It was ten after nine. He leaned back and stretched his underused muscles. He needed coffee. He was lacking on energy this morning.

A small knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Hello," Diana smiled walking slowly into the room with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything? I figured you were here so I brought you a cup of coffee."

Peter smiled softly back, reaching for the cup. "Ah... you are a mind reader. No... a Saint! Thank you."

Diana's eyes fixed on Neal. "How's he doing? Any change?"

Peter set the cup of coffee down on the night stand to cool off a bit and rubbed at stubble on his chin. "None. Doc says it's up to Neal when he wakes up."

Diana shook her head in understanding. "He'll wake up."

Peter sighed. "I know he will. In fact, I think he can hear us. It's his sick way of getting back at me watching me age fifty years here."

Diana snorted. "You don't really think Neal would do that to you do you?" She looked from Peter to Neal then added, "I mean, he put twenty on you while you were chasing him, ten more since you've been his handler. Never mind, don't answer that."

Peter pretended he was shocked. "You hear that Neal? I may possibly look over a hundred due to you."

In a more serious tone, "Listen Peter, no offense. But you look like hell. You haven't shaved, your clothes are wrinkled. When's the last time you ate?"

Peter looked down at himself then to Diana. "I appreciate the concern but I'm off duty. I didn't realize I needed to win a fashion contest when most the people roaming these halls are in 3 day old scrubs or hospital gowns. Did my wife put you up to this?"

"No but she has expressed her concern. We all are," Diana responded. "Hughes says you haven't made an appointment yet..."

"Is that what this is about? I haven't made an appointment to see the department shrink?"

"I'm here to see Neal. I'm just pointing out a few things." Diana stood by Neal's bed and gave his head a friendly pat. "I've got to get back to work. I asked Mozzie to wait in the waiting room while I made my brief visit. He's driving the staff nuts. I think half the nurses are afraid of him." She looked down at Neal with concern in her eyes. "Wake up soon, will ya?" She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "If you wake up I just may go your way," she teased.

Turning to leave, "Take care of yourself Peter. You need to be in court next week."

"Listen, I'm sorry for snapping. I'm ah... well I appreciate your concern. I just haven't been sleeping well and all..." Peter looked down to the floor then back up to his co worker. "Forgive?"

Diana half smiled. "Nothing to forgive, Sir. I will see you later." Pausing, "Peter... you need to make that appointment."

TBC...


End file.
